by Caroline Woolard
The quest for the horizon is a bed, an unreachable, horizontal dream land of vacation islands where water and sky touch freely. Only sailors and sunset interrupt this line of blue against blue with myth and poetry. The vertical reach of cities, like the upright character of waking life, slaps neighborhoods awake in construction's eternal quest for clouds: vacancies appear only upwards, above and on top. Lonely horizons are levitating bodies in beds, beds filled mostly by ones not twos. City buildings stand in crowds barred by streets, with so many not-slanted, flat roofs collecting and evaporating because where would the water go? The anonymous intimacy of subway mornings with sleeping fists gathered, gripping, piled on totem-pole-of-hands railings.
Caroline Woolard explores the space between people and architecture, making a place for the body amidst gigantic buildings on the streets of New York and finding new ways to occupy public space. Her work includes a personal subway seat, a seat/space to visualize conversation, and a house balanced between two stories.